The Reality
by Adlock221b
Summary: The reality has to be accepted to be dealt with. Psychologist, Dr Irene Adler knows that. So when she escapes death due to Sherlock's pretend drug's bust, how do they cope with the reality of their feelings. (I suck at summaries. Sorry.)


**A/N Some background knowledge. Irene Adler was a psychogloist that Mycroft sent into Sherlock's rehabilitation centre when he was recovering from his addiction. She helped him solve the mystery of what happened to the previous therapist who had been sent there. She actually listened to him and released that his addiction wasn't with drugs but puzzle solving and ended up persuading Lestrade to let Sherlock help. Irene was always engaged to Godfrey but her and Sherlock developed feelings for one another, and they weren't always a secret to one another. I think this is a one shot, but I may do more chapters. For the moment it's a one short. **

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Sherlock Holmes' coat was almost as tall as his six foot body and he wore it all the time - even in summer. It twirled with him when he did. It was like a companion who moved like him and was in sync with him, and it was a gift from his brother Mycroft when he became a graduate chemist at eighteen years old. Sherlock was always smart. What, Sherlock wasn't always, was a detective who craved the need to solve crimes - mainly of the murderous and complex nature. Interesting cases only! Sherlock was taught the powers of observation by his brother, and inspired to use them at nine years old with the murder of Carl Powers - of course not many people would listen to a boy of that age, especially not police investigating a formal police matter. To become a detective Sherlock stored away any piece of emotion, as much as he could in a black box, hidden away in his mind palace. Emotions hurt, and clouded one's judgement. So he learned. Mistakes are often made when you love someone. Sherlock loved more than a lot of people, and that made him vulnerable.

When Sherlock first saw his brother at the crime scene of the cabbie's shooting, he assumed interference and the usual sibling rivalry but then he saw the grim look on Mycroft's face. So as Sherlock and his new friend, John, approached Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock had a little bit of fear creep into his veins. Mycroft wasn't usually so visibly worried about anything. He didn't like that Mycroft's PA wasn't on her blackberry either. She had her arms folded. Anthea had been working with his brother a couple of years, and she was often quite composed usually. Anthea looked like her mind was on something else.

"Is mother okay?" Sherlock asked, Mycroft. Sherlock's friend John blinked. Mother? What was Sherlock talking about?

"Mother is fine, as is father. I'm here about Irene Adler." Mycroft stated, simply. Anthea swallowed a tear fell down her cheek. Irene and Anthea were good friends.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked. He knew that Irene was going to America to work over there, with her fiancee's new business opportunity.

"Her plane exploded. Engine issue that went unnoticed. The corpses left are most unidentifiable…" Mycroft began but stopped when Anthea cleared her throat to compose herself and try and stay calm.

"I think you've said quite enough Mycroft." Sherlock replied, crossly.

"How do you know him?" John asked.

"This is my brother, Mycroft."

"Do you need anything, Sherlock?" Anthea asked him quietly.

"Not at all. My friend John and I are going to get Chinese." Sherlock replied. "He's going to get Chinese. I'm not hungry."

Sherlock began walking off, taking deep breaths.

"Who's Irene Adler?" John asked Mycroft.

"The Woman." Mycroft replied, looking at his brother with concern.

"So when you say you're concerned, you actually are." John frowned.

"Yes." Mycroft replied.

Sherlock made his way into Baker Street, leaving John to go back to his flat to get things packed for moving into Baker Street with him. He was about to pass the living room to go to his bedroom when he heard tapping on the desk. He recognised that. Was he imagining it? He wandered into the living room and saw her. Irene Adler. Everything he'd built up collapsed at that moment and he…smiled and then took off his coat, putting it around her shoulders. She was just wearing her pencil skirt and blouse and it was cold - she was shivering.

"I thought for a minute you'd relapsed when Mrs Hudson called me. I was going to call Greg." she explained.

"Greg?"

"Lestrade." she replied. "Anyway that led to my separation from Godfrey. I had to make a choice. You or him. I have always allowed him to do his job as a lawyer. Sherlock you were my patient and not only that you're a very good friend. If you'd relapsed you'd need my help…obviously because the first time I'd given you help it hadn't work and that would have hurt my ego. So as soon as I got out of the airport, I called Lestrade and he said it was…"

"A pretend drugs bust to bully me?" he asked.

"I don't think he used those words but they seem personal choice to you. Sit down. Let's talk."

"I assume you heard about the plane…"

"I did." Irene replied, quietly. Her gloss faded lips made a small smile, and then she stood up. "Who told you? You've been on a case, I don't imagine you would have seen the news."

"Mycroft." Sherlock replied and a smile appeared on his lips. "Mycroft thought you were dead and you weren't. That makes me smarter than him."

"No. I am sure the bodies just haven't been identified yet." Irene replied. "That's the one's that can be found."

"And I thought I was morbid."

"I have to state the reality to accept it." Irene replied, simply. "Godfrey is dead and I survived. I was going to be on that plane but I wasn't, because Sherlock Holmes had a pretend drugs bust and I got worried about him, and I gave up my fiancee for him but that is okay."

"I think I feel more bad about that time you had to go looking for a dead body in the chimney of my rehabilitation centre, almost losing your job and falling to your imminent death."

"You never liked Godfrey and he never liked you. He seemed to think you and I were tearing each other's clothes off behind closed doors."

"Sometimes we did. Like that time, I got attacked by another resident and I refused to have the wound treated. You usually resorted to psychology to manipulate me and that day you just….ripped of my shirt."

"Oh come, you always wear them too tight. The buttons almost pop off." Irene replied, before folding her arms. "It was gonna just rip apart one day. Sometimes with you though, you need the, you're doing it approach whether you like it or not. It's a rather child minded process, a mentality probably caused by your advanced education at a younger age than the rest of your peer group, causing you to forcefully grow up or try to anyway, around people who were older than your brother. Or perhaps maybe it was Redbeard. Oh my dog, died. I will just skip the childhood trauma and…."

"You're doing it again." Sherlock stated. He didn't want Irene to start talking about his other sibling. "We made a deal that when the other was going off on a tangent like that to the other and deducing them or analysing the other, we'd saying you're doing it again."

"I'm sorry." Irene replied, quietly. "I'm know I'm being Dr Bitch but I already feel like Ms Bitch."

"Why is that?" Sherlock asked, imitating her. She didn't know either to slap him or laugh.

"Because even though I heard that explosion from the airport. Even though I knew that Godfrey was dead, I was more upset about you relapsing. Then I found out you were kidnapped and almost killed by some cabbie. Lestrade told them that as well."

"Maybe you can go ask him out. Oh wait he's married." Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock?"

"You should call Anthea she's in tears."

"I tried to get through but she's not answering. Sent her a dozen texts, voicemail messages. It's not like her to not have her phone."

"Grief does horrible things to people doesn't it."

"Sherlock…" Irene began. "What's wrong? You've stopped eye contact with me and you're being short. Why?"

"You were more upset with me relapsing than your fiancee's death. Actually but that time he was probably your ex-fiancee. But that doesn't matter. You felt like a bitch because you cared about me."

"I never said I felt like a bitch because I cared about you, Sherlock Holmes. I felt like a bitch because I….Since I fell in love with you. Let's not pretend that we don't know how the other feels for one another. Let's not pretend that. It's why Godfrey made me choose. I tried and tried until that point. And now Godfrey is dead. So now I feel guilty for being in love with you because I should have been in love with him. And he was the one that I wanted to want. But you can't choose who you fall in love with."

"You're my psychologist you know I'm a sociopath."

"I'm your psychologist and I know **you **_wish_ that was the case."

"Yes I do. So very much." Sherlock replied. "You're the chemical defect found on the losing side. You're everything that I've tried to avoid. But even when I try I can't. You could have died today."

"So could you actually. So could you."

"That's the reality. How many times am I going to feel my heart rip apart when I almost lose you again, and again to god knows who Irene. You know how dangerous my job is."

"I'm not asking for a chance, I'm asking for us to be honest so that I can cope with the reality that I'm going to lose you too."

"I prefer this." Sherlock said, as he got up and walked over to her. He cupped her face with his hand and pulled her to a kiss. It was so soft, and gentle. When they broke away just a little to breathe and talk, she put her hands on his shoulders to steady her.

"The reality of that woman, is that we've both been wanting that for quite sometime despite our better judgement. The reality of it is, you're feeling guilty because of Norton. The reality of it is that if we aren't honest about how we feel right now we're going to be in abject misery for the rest of our lives."

"You're so morbid." she replied before pulling him to another kiss. His hands let his coat slide off her shoulders so he could stroke her soft skin. It was a comfort to him. Her skin was a gentle as her approach to life normally. He needed her. He'd almost lost her and he needed her. He wanted to be on the losing side if it meant her.

By the time they got to his room and on his bed they were past the unbuttoning and removal stage. He caressed her cheek and kissed her lips. "I love you." he whispered against them.

"I love you too, Sherlock." Irene replied.

It wasn't about pleasure, it was about being so close that some of their fear and anxiety slid away. When they were ready to sleep she took the right side of the bed and he took the left, before he pulled her into cuddle closed to him, stroking her back gently, until they both fell asleep.

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**A/N I'm not sure whether to just leave this as a one shot or not. Let me know what you think in the reviews. That if you wanna leave one. I understand if it's not worthy of one. **


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